


Go the Distance

by Adri_James



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hercules (1997), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Crossover, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Lady Loki, M/M, SHIELD, Shapeshifting, Temporary Character Death, birthday present for Livi, frostshield - Freeform, her two favorite things combined, interchangeable Loki, stoki - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adri_James/pseuds/Adri_James
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destined for greatness, Steve Rogers must learn to control his godlike powers to defeat a rising evil and become a true hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gospel Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Stoki/Hercules crossover. It follows the Hercules story line and uses Marvel characters, mainly ones from the MCU. The pairing in this story is Steve/Loki but their relationship is more of a side story that becomes important later on.  
> Warning: Language and some violence

The museum was closed for the evening. It housed many great artifacts of the past but of course the one display that gained the most traffic was the Hall of Heroes. These heroes were the greatest, most respected men and women alike whose powers and abilities made them known and whose sacrifices made them famous. Many of these heroes had passed on long ago but their likenesses lived on and would continue to do so, carrying on their noble names and stories. Despite the museum being empty, voices of the various recordings and introductions still ran on repeat. The most prominent of these was in the very center of the exhibit, its voice carried over all the others, and it spoke only of the noblest of these heroes—Captain America. His likeness stood taller and mightier than all the others for his pure heart and courage could not be matched by any other. And the introduction given for him was always louder than the rest.

_“There was a time not long ago when monsters roamed the Earth which caused for the rise of heroes. Among those heroes rose some of the greats—many whose likenesses have been captured over the years as tribute for their services. The bravest, truest, and most valiant of all these heroes being the mighty Captain America—Steve Rogers—who--”_

“Ugh, stop with the dreary monologue already!”

The voice echoes over the empty room.

“Yeah, I hate that stupid voiceover introduction…trying to make out his story to be like some kind of Greek tragedy.”

Five statues of female heroes begin to move out of place, shaking out the kinks of a long day’s work. They were the five—five of the greatest female heroes known to Earth: Carol Danvers, Janet van Dyne, Bobbi Morse, Jessica Drew, and Wanda Maximoff. All were known for their courage, strength, and incredible gifts given for the sake of the survival of the human race.

Above them the voice doing the monologue seems to clear its throat rather bashfully. _“Well it’s not as if I have a choice in what I say…”_

“Awww,” Jessica Drew coos, smiling sweetly up at the speaker. “We know that, hunny. Just—you could add a little more--”

“Enthusiasm?” Bobbi Morse snorts.

“Finesse, I was going to say finesse.”

_“I’m only a recording. I simply read the way I’m supposed to.”_

“But you’re reading about Steve Rogers…the Captain America!” Janet van Dyne exclaims. She sighs, turning to stare at the statue of his likeness fondly. “Blessed with good looks and a heart of gold.”

Wanda Maximoff hums. “A true hero.”

“Steve Rogers! As I live and breathe…” Carol Danvers leaps onto the tribute statue of Captain America. She grunts and drapes herself onto him. “They should’ve called him Captain Booty. That boy had an ass you could spot in a crowd. This bronze replica barely does him justice…we could’ve made some sweet love together if I--”

“What we’re trying to say,” Wanda Maximoff scowls at Danvers, crossing her arms. “Is that his story deserves more than just an introductory monologue. You speak only of his deeds here on Earth—why not introduce him with his great origins? Tell the story of how he came to be Captain America.” She rests her hand on the plaque of his tribute. “He’s more than just this shield.”

There’s a pause, the voice over the speakers perking up a bit with amusement. _“I’m all ears.”_

“Rogers’ story begins long, long ago—before the idea of his greatness was ever conceived…” The girls all sit around the Captain’s likeness, Carol rubbing her hands over his calf.

“When the world was new there were powerful and great beings that roamed the universe known as Titans. Their power knew no bounds and neither did their lust for blood…the only world that stood in their way for complete domination was Earth. They cast the planet into chaos, wreaking havoc amongst the human race, and taking thousands upon thousands of lives…it was not long before the Earth was at their mercy.

Then came SHIELD. They were the saving grace of the world and stopped the Titans in their tracks, using their own powers against them to imprison them in the very bowels of the universe. SHIELD singlehandedly removed chaos from Earth, saving millions of lives.

SHIELD sought to protect the world, no matter the foe, and to protect the innocence of the lives that called Earth home. But with the rise of powers unnatural for mere mortals to possess and the rise of magic and evil, SHIELD sought to create something greater than the heroes they were. They sought to create a being so pure of heart and soul that he could be called lead them to peace—the very savior of Earth. A being so graced with power and selflessness that he would be worthy of the title of ‘true hero’…and this is where our story begins…”

*

**Triskelion, Washington D.C. (SHIELD’s Base of Operations)**

“You’re sure you’ve found one?” Nick Fury walks confidently down the dimly lit hall. It was late. The building was nearly cleared of all agents other than the few who were on call. Director Fury was frustrated that being director meant never getting a decent night’s sleep. “I don’t think I need to elaborate as to why you need to be sure, doctor.”

Dr. Abraham Erskine was leading Director Fury towards his discovery though he was a few steps behind from having to continually shuffle about his papers. He was an odd little man with thick rimmed glasses and an even thicker German accent. “I’m certain this time. He’s the perfect specimen, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s what you said last time, Dr. Erskine, we can’t make the same mistake twice--”

They pause in front of the double doors that led into the labs, Fury narrowing his eye at the smaller man. The doctor frowns at him, clutching his unorganized papers to his chest and fixing his spectacles. His face was stoic but his eyes were alive with excitement.

“I’m sure of it, director. I give you my word.”

Erskine passes through the doors with Fury close behind him. The lab assistants and other agents had already gathered around as spectators and were currently assisting with the setup, eager to get on with the experiment. The two men part ways as Erskine begins to order his assistants about the proper way to handle the equipment as the director takes a seat against the far wall to oversee the entire room. A tall spindly woman approaches him and speaks in a hushed tone, the director nodding in response.

“No, no, those go over there--”

“Dr. Erskine, should we turn on the monitors?”

“Yes, turn them on and make sure they warm up, we’ll get started shortly. Is he ready? Where’s Agent Romanoff?”

“He was getting fussy so Romanoff took him into the prep room. Should we ask her to wake him--?”

“No, no, let him sleep. Now where’s Stark? Stark--!”

“Right here, doc, no need to yell.”

A well-groomed man in a white lab coat steps into the room and licks his thumb, swiping it across his lip to straighten his mustache. He winks at one of the assistants who blushes and hides her face with her clipboard. Stark shakes Erskine’s hand. “Apologies, Abe, I know how much you hate to be kept waiting.” He gives Fury a little salute. “Director, looking stiff as ever.”

“Stark.”

“Alright!” Stark claps his hands and rubs them together. “Where’s the little whippersnapper at? Let’s get started!”

“Not quite yet, I’d like for him to sleep a little longer. I don’t want any unnecessary strain on him--”

“Doctor,” Fury clears his throat, literally everyone in the room freezing at the tone of his voice. “I believe we’re ready to start.”

Erskine nods and takes the center of the room. “Y-yes, sir.” He clears his throat. “Attention, everyone, I’d like to begin.” He waits for the assistants to take their seats. “These past twenty years we have been keeping the peace, seeking ways to create a hero that will be both sound of body and mind. Our tests however have proven less than successful…” Fury shifts in his seat. “And that made me think—what if we are seeking out these subjects in the wrong way? We are choosing men who have already made mistakes and sins in their lives in hopes that my serum will adapt to their good nature—but there is no true way to discover if the good outweighs the bad. I have made the necessary adjustments to my serum as well as my theorem and the amount of time this experiment is to be drawn out. This will take a necessary amount of years that I have carefully mapped out depending on how well the subject adapts to the serum--”

Fury frowns, leaning forward in his seat. “How many years are we talking? SHIELD has already invested a great number of years into this program and we’ve come up with nothing but unfavorable results.”

“And I understand your discrepancy with any changes I have made--”

“I’d like to know why these changes seem to be so necessary. Obviously things weren’t working in the past few trials…why change now?” The assistants murmur amongst themselves. “And furthermore how am I to believe that these changes have been made for the better?”

“Perhaps…it would be best--” Erskine sighs, “--if you met my newest subject.” He motions towards one of the prep rooms. “Agent Romanoff, if you would?”

A woman who looked to be in her late-twenties with short red hair and pouty lips steps out of the room. She was cooing at the small body in her arms—a baby—who wasn’t responding the way most infants would at his size. He was looking up at her with interest but could barely lift his arms to reach for her face and hair. There was no babbling or mimicking from the baby either…just the small, shuddering wheezes from each breath he took. She smiles fondly at him and passes him gently to Erskine who takes care to mind his head. The infant makes a small noise and waves one of his arms weakly. He grabs one of Erskine’s fingers and smiles, wheezing out a cough. Erskine rubs his chest and frowns as the baby continues to cough.

“He sounds to be having a bit of trouble,” Erskine directs her towards his equipment. “If you could set him down in the device and help steady his breathing? I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.” He hands the baby back to her and turns his attention back towards the director. “Now…I’m sure you must be thinking--”

“Thinking?” Fury’s tone was harsh as he stands to walk past Dr. Erskine and towards Agent Romanoff who was cooing softly at the baby. She places a small tube in his nose and turns on the machine to her right, his wheezing beginning to slow down. Fury stares down at the baby with a scowl. “Tell me, doctor…what exactly am I thinking?”

“Well, I—I’m sure I do not know--”

“But you said you did, did you not?” The doctor continues to stutter over his words, Fury turning to one of the assistants. “Did he not just tell me that he knew what I was thinking?” The girl mumbles and nods, averting her eyes from the director’s cold stare. Fury looks over the baby again with a frown. He sighs, stepping away from the machine the infant was in and placing a hand roughly on Erskine’s shoulder. “Doctor…how are you so sure the serum will work on him? Where did you even get this child?”

Erskine fumbles his hands together and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “He was abandoned. After adjusting my notes I came to the conclusion that a child was best suited to develop into the perfect hero. As I was being introduced to the children I came across the boy in a tiny incubator and I pitied him. I thought that—if the serum did nothing more than heal him of his ailments than I would be happy, I would consider myself a success. And—he is young. He has not yet been impressed upon due to the nature of his illness and circumstances and therefore we will be able to mold his mind to teach him right from wrong. If raised properly the boy will become a good man, a perfect man. It will work, director.”

Fury sighs deeply and rubs his eye. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen months.” Fury raises his brow when Natasha is the quickest to answer, observing the way she leans over the machine to soothe the baby as he squirms about.

“I do hope we aren’t too attached to the child, Agent Romanoff. You seem fond of him and I can’t have one of my best agents emotionally compromised if this procedure were to do him any harm.”

“It won’t,” Romanoff hums. She runs a hand over the wisp of blonde hair on his head. He wheezes a bit, grabbing her hand. “Steve’s stronger than he looks.”

“You’ve named him.”

“Dr. Erskine named him. I’ve simply been doing as you told me to, director. You told me to assist the doctor in any way possible and he asked me to look after the baby.”

“Agent Romanoff has proved very helpful in keeping him as comfortable as possible,” Erskine flips on one of the switches to the machine and it starts to hum. “And I am sure Romanoff’s concern for the child is purely human nature—as is all of ours. Now whenever Mr. Stark--”

Stark flips a couple switches on the wall to dim the lights, smirking. “Ready when you are, doc.” He takes a seat at one of the control panels. The assistants start handing out pairs of goggles. “If you’ll all put these on—sorry, director, but I couldn’t get a pair specially made so I just popped out one of the lenses for you.”

“Hillarious.”

Erskine takes Natasha’s arm gently to guide her away from the baby and towards one of the spectator rooms. “He will be fine, Agent Romanoff, the procedure will not hurt him.” She follows the director and other agents behind the safety glass, taking a seat. The doctor takes his place by the machine, the assistants placing various electrodes on the infant’s chest and stomach. He fusses at them and starts to whine. One of the assistants reaches for the tube in his nose and the doctor catches her hand. “No, no…keep his air in. I don’t want him to go into shock… Have you recorded his height and weight? And his heart rate?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Good, good…I’ll need the vaccine then,” Dr. Erskine orders. He runs a hand through the thinning hair on his head. One of the assistants hands him the needle he requested and he thanks her. He leans over to take the baby’s arm but he whines and pulls away from him. “Hold his arm steady for me.” The baby starts to let out raspy little cries as the doctor gives him the vaccine. Erskine hands the needle to one of the assistants and sighs. “Steady him, we can’t have him squirming about during the procedure—Stark, has the machine warmed up?”

“Ready, set, and match.”

The assistants coo at the baby and rub his stomach, his crying eventually faltering and replaced by his tiny, wheezing breaths. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Erskine smiles at the lot of them. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “It’s time to play God.” He looks down at the baby who smiles up at him, lifting one of his arms. “You are to be a new breed of hero, my son. You should be proud.” He smiles fondly at him and steps away. “Shut it.” The baby makes a small noise as they close the lid to the machine and switch on the monitors, making sure the latches are secure. Erskine pulls on his goggles and everyone else in the room does the same, stepping away from the machine and towards their positions to man the switches on the walls. “Mr. Stark—turn it on.”

“Hold onto your hats.”

Stark flips the main switch and the room is plunged into darkness, the only sound the heavy whirring of the machine as it begins to warm up. The monitor reading the baby’s heart begins to speed up. Stark motions to the assistants to flip their switches and the machine lets out a low whine, a white light shining blindly from the device. As Stark steadily increases the power the baby starts to wail. The monitor shows his heart rate speeding up even further. Erskine motions for the assistants to stay where they are and Stark gives the signal that they’ve reached maximum power. The baby continues to sob.

“Doctor! The infant’s heart can’t take much more--”

“Keep it steady!” Erskine orders. “Don’t shut it off, only a few moments longer!”

The white light fills the room. Some of the assistants begin to shield their eyes. The infant’s crying stops. The monitor flat lines and the assistants look around frantically, unsure as to what to do. Stark furrows his brow and looks to Erskine who holds up his hand to keep it steady.

Fury steps out of the observation room to yell. “For God’s sakes, Erskine, shut it off!”

Erskine looks to Fury and to the monitors. He furrows his brow. “That’s enough, Stark! Shut it off!” Stark cuts off the power and the machine lets out a few sparks. Some of the assistants yell when the panels on the wall spark out as well. The room goes black. One by one the lights blink back on and Erskine tears off his goggles, running up to the machine. “Open it up! Hurry, hurry, open it!” The switches let out a hiss as the machine opens. Stark takes off his goggles and stands, craning his neck to see. The entire room stays deadly silent. No one moved. Erskine closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Shut off the monitors…”

“But—doctor--”

A small noise breaks the silence. The baby lets out a small cough and starts to cry, his heart rate reappearing on the screen. Erskine lets out a relieved sigh, the rest of the room starting to applaud. Stark sits back down in his chair and starts to laugh. “He’s not wheezing!” Erskine exclaims. “He’s not wheezing—quick! What’s his weight?”

“It is…25.2 pounds. He’s average.”

“Average! He’s average, it worked! Quickly, shut off the oxygen and get those electrodes off of him, check his breathing, check his—check everything! He’s average, it worked!”

The room continues to applaud, many of the assistants shaking the doctor’s hand. Stark runs up to Erskine laughing and hugs him, shaking his shoulders. Romanoff waves off the assistants to scoop the baby up from the machine and coddle him, smiling when he raises both his arms to reach for her. One of the assistants hands her a bottle and she places it to his mouth. He grabs it with both hands and holds it steady on his own.

“Look at him!” Erskine laughs, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “He’s already adapting to the serum—someone write this down! Somebody get me my notebook--”

“Dr. Erskine.” Everyone quiets down when Fury steps towards the doctor. He holds out a hand for him to shake and gives him the closest thing to a smile that Fury could manage. “Congratulations. On behalf of SHIELD—and myself—we look forward to seeing how the experiment moves on from here.”

“As. Am. I.”

A man steps into the room, receiving pointed glares from a majority of the room. He was dressed smartly in a military uniform and he would have been a rather handsome man if it had not been for the odd texture of the skin on his face. It resembled the sheen of plastic and wrinkled in odd ways where the contours of his face would fall—almost as if he were wearing a mask. He steps further into the room, the assistants stepping out of his way as he strides, smiling coyly at the lot of them. Both Erskine and Fury frown, Fury narrowing his eye. Romanoff holds the baby closer to her and steps behind Fury.

“General Schmidt.” Fury folds his arms stiffly behind his back. “I think I made myself clear that you were no longer allowed in these facilities. And I’m curious as to how you got past security.”

“Oh, director,” Schmidt walks freely through the room, his smile widening. “You and I both know that even the impossible can be reached if one simply puts their mind to it.” He turns to Dr. Erskine who looked less pleased to see him than Fury. “Herr doctor…so good to see you again. I do hope I am not interrupting but when I heard you were attempting to create another super soldier I could not refuse the invitation to observe.”

“You should not have come, Johann.” Erskine scowls. The female agent beside Fury places a hand on her gun. “The test is already complete. And it will be years before the subject shows any true signs of improvement—but from what I’ve already seen I have no doubt that this time my experiments have been a success.”

“How very cryptic, doctor. Tell me—where is this new subject of yours? For a super soldier he does very well blending into crowds.”

“I told you, Johann—my tests were much different this time.”

The baby squeals and Romanoff shushes him, bouncing him lightly in her arms. Schmidt quirks a brow and looks around the room. His eyes settle on Natasha and the baby, making the connection in his mind. He lets out a laugh, several of the assistants jumping. “Oh, doctor, surely this must be a jest…” he laughs. “The fate of the new world—rests in the hands of an infant?”

Erskine frowns. “The fate of the new world rests in the hands of the man this child will become.”

“Do you all not feel foolish? Resting the fate of your organization in the hands of a premature bastard--”

“Steve,” Natasha snarls, holding him closer to her. The general turns to her and her scowl deepens. “His name is Steve.”

Schmidt grins at her and chuckles. He approaches her slowly, Fury stepping aside as Schmidt walks up to her. The female agent beside Fury places a hand on her gun holster. Natasha narrows her eyes and steps back. Steve fusses against where she had him pressed to her shoulder. “May I?” He holds out his arms for the baby, Romanoff looking to Erskine. The doctor gives her a small nod. Natasha reluctantly hands Steve over to him and the general smiles. “Steve…short for Steven, yes? Derived from the Greek name Stephanos. It means crown, honor, and victorious. It is a name given to those of great power…your touch I’m assuming, doctor?”

“He’s going to become the saving grace of the world,” Natasha scoffs. She crosses her arms defensively. “He’ll give people something to believe in again.”

“Why? Because Herr doctor cured him? Helped him to breathe? Hope is nothing more than a washed up idea created by the common man,” Schmidt chuckles. “Romanoff was it? You were one of the first to receive the serum, weren’t you? Tell me—what has it done for you?”

She glances at Fury and he quirks a brow. “Prolonged life. Superhuman capabilities. Heightened immunity.”

He shrugs, giving her a small nod. Steve fusses in Schmidt’s arms. “And what was the serum to do to the boy, doctor? Similar results, I’m assuming?”

“The serum has already adapted to give his body the strength to develop as if he were not born ill. He no longer has asthma, his weight has doubled, and he is capable of moving all of his limbs. In years’ time we will be able to tell if the serum has heightened his immunity and if his intellect is developing at exponential rates. He will develop superhuman strength, agility, and stamina and his body will be able to withstand a multitude of various injuries.” 

“And what about regeneration?”

“He—he will be capable of healing the largest of wounds in no time at all, yes.” 

Schmidt hums and nods, walking about the room casually with Steve babbling in his arms. He pulls a switch blade from his belt. Romanoff and the agent beside Fury both whip their guns out of their holsters and cock them. “Should we test your theory, doctor?” Schmidt chuckles, flashing both women a grin. He holds the blade just above the infant’s stomach. “How well do you trust your reflexes, Agent Romanoff? Either of you shoot me and the boy could become seriously injured.”

“Alright,” Fury steps between his agents and Schmidt, raising his hands to both women. They lower their weapons only slightly. “Let’s just all calm down…there’s no need to harm the boy, general, he’s incapable of even defending himself. Just—put the knife away and hand him back to Dr. Erskine.”

Erskine steps towards the four of them, his arms outstretched for the baby. “Johann, please--”

“NEIN! DO NOT CALL ME BY THAT NAME!” Schmidt yells, pricking the infant’s stomach with the blade. A drop of blood runs down the swell of his belly as Steve begins to wail. “I am no longer Johann Schmidt, doctor, I have not been since you gave me that damned serum! Since you turned me into the monster that I am!” He looks down at the baby in his arms and laughs. “But it would seem your theory has failed, doctor. A cut this small surely should have healed by now. Should we test how deep the wound can go?” Schmidt chuckles and holds the blade just above Steve’s stomach who was still sobbing. A shot’s fired—several of the lab assistants screaming and falling to the floor—and Schmidt lets out a pained yell as the knife he was holding is shot out of his hand.

Howard Stark lets out a breath and lowers his gun with a sigh. “Damn, I’m a better shot than I thought.”

Romanoff wrenches Steve from Schmidt’s grip and holds him against her, cooing softly to soothe him. Schmidt snarls and glares daggers at Stark. He lets out a dry laugh. “No matter, doctor…it would still seem as though your serum has failed to give the bastard superhuman abilities.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Natasha turns Steve just slightly so that his stomach is visible. The cut Schmidt had made was already healed over as if it had never happened, the small amount of blood already starting to dry. “It would seem the only one Dr. Erskine has failed is you.”

He snarls and pulls a military rifle from his pocket, aiming at her and the baby. “Good little girls should know when to hold their tongues--” 

A gun cocks behind him, Fury poking his own .22 into Schmidt’s back. He narrows his eye. “I believe it’s time for you to leave, Herr general.”

Schmidt laughs darkly, grinning. “Very well, director. I shall go.” He pockets his gun and steps carefully away from Fury. Schmidt walks slowly through the crowd, chuckling to himself. “But how long will your fantasies last? How long will you place your hopes in an organization that can no longer protect the world from itself? There is no justice in a world full of imperfections. I seek to cleanse it.”

“You seek to control it.” Schmidt frowns, Fury scoffing at him. “Hope is something mankind has clung to since the beginning of time and it’s a concept that SHIELD will always stand behind. This boy may or may not be our reckoning to free the new world from itself but it’s worth a shot. The people still believe in heroes, general,” Fury scowls, folding his arms behind his back. “And so do I.”

Schmidt cackles wickedly. He sees himself to the door, pushing them open with a wicked smile. His eyes flicker to the infant in Romanoff’s arms. “We shall see, Herr director, we shall see…”


	2. Hail Hydra

Further into the Hall of Heroes was a wall of tribute to some of the greatest villains the heroes featured had ever faced. One entire portion was dedicated to a group known as HYDRA. A portrait of Johann Schmidt was the largest shown and was dead center. In the portrait he looked young and was wearing his German military uniform. “Johann Schmidt…if there was one man whose temper you didn’t want to stir up it was his.” Wanda and the others look over the tribute to the various villains. “He was as clever as he was cunning and SHIELD believed him to be an asset to their cause until his true colors began to show.” 

“Schmidt developed a lust for power and perfection and when he heard tell of Dr. Erskine’s serum he had to be the first to try.” Jessica sighs and shakes her head. “He gained the abilities the serum was promised to give but—it deformed him…and his lust for power only grew. Disgusted by his deformities, Schmidt became the leader of a terrorist organization known as HYDRA and sought to rid the world of everything he believed to be wicked and unjust, blaming Erskine and SHIELD for his misfortunes.

With the supposed creation of the perfect soldier, Schmidt was presented with an opportunity to put his hard work into motion. He’d spent years developing weapons of destruction and researching objects of supernatural power…items that others believed had long since been forgotten to mortals—even to SHIELD. And he had an evil plan…”

*

**HYDRA Headquarters (somewhere in the German Alps)**

“Nein nein nein nein nein!” A short stoutly man screams, banging his fists on the table that a group of researches were arguing around. He swipes his arms across the surface in a rage and tosses numerous blueprints to the floor. “This is not what Herr general wants! We have years of planning ahead these designs must be PERFECTION!”

“But, doctor, the designs Herr general is looking for simply cannot be done--”

“No excuses!”

“But--”

“NEIN! Find a way! Or I’ll make sure Herr general blacklists all of you idiots personally--”

“Zola.”

The little man spins around in a rage, furious that someone would address him in such a casual manner. “WHAT?!” His face falls slightly.

A large, muscular man was looming over him, the rest of the people in the room already pretending to busy themselves with other things. The man scowls at the little doctor who was barely tall enough to reach his waist.

“Rumlow…” the smaller man regains his composure. “What is it you want? I’m busy motivating these dummkopf--”

“General Schmidt is back.”

Zola hums and nods, pretending to look over some of the blueprints he’d thrown to the floor. “Good, good, he had a good flight--?”

“He wants to see you.”

“Oh, well then I’ll be right there once my meeting has concluded--”

“Now.”

Rumlow turns on his heels and retreats towards the elevator. Zola’s face pales. He quickly scoops up the blueprints and tosses them back onto the table, shooting a look at the researchers for staring. The doctor shuffles quickly towards the elevator. He barely makes it in before the doors close behind them. They ride in silence, Rumlow breathing quietly while Zola fidgets and mumbles to himself. The general was never in a good mood when he sent Rumlow to find Zola.

The elevator ride did not last as long as Zola wanted and he could hear the general throwing a tantrum before the doors even opened. Papers had been scattered across the floor. General Schmidt was screaming in German and shoving items off of his desk, his assistant stoically watching on from her own desk. Rumlow steps into the room, Zola careful to keep behind him. He clears his throat and the general spins around in a fury. Schmidt seems to relax at the sight of the man, taking a deep breath and running a hand over his hair. The skin on his face pulls taut with the motion.

“Ah, Rumlow,” Schmidt sighs, walking over to the bar to pour himself a drink. “Did you find Zola, then?”

“J-jah, Herr general, I am here,” Zola speaks up, stepping out from behind his human shield. Schmidt hesitates raising the glass to his lips. He takes the drink and sets it back down on the counter. “You—wanted to see me? How did it go with SHIELD?”

Schmidt lets out an angry roar and throws his glass at the wall. Zola jumps.

“Things did not go well then? Wh-what about the cube? Were the results conclusive for that?”

“Nein…” He pours himself another drink and sits down at his desk, rubbing his eyes. “It would seem—that Dr. Erskine has successfully created a new super soldier serum. He has used it on an infant.” Schmidt takes a sip and lets out a long sigh.

“An—an infant, sir?” Zola furrows his brow. “Surely you are not concerned with this.”

“It will depend upon how well the boy’s body adapts to the serum. The results shown were troubling, yes, but I am not in a position to worry. I’ve come too far to place any anxieties of failure into the fate of a mortal child.”

“A-and the cube, sir?”

“Another dead end.” Schmidt sets down his glass and stares bitterly at his desk. “We are not interpreting the maps and books the way they are meant to be interpreted.”

Zola chuckles hesitantly. “Well it is all written in Old Norse, Herr general…some of the runes translations have been lost for thousands of years--”

“EXCUSES!” Schmidt yells, banging his fist on the desk. “Find someone skilled in Old Norse then! Bribe them, blackmail them, take them prisoner, drag them in by the roots of their hair—I DON’T CARE! Find me someone who can READ THEM!” Zola squeaks out an apology and nods. “Now…tell me how the weapon development is coming along. How behind are we?”

“Ahh—it will be—another few years still before any true results are reached--”

Schmidt waves Zola off with the flick of his hand, finishing off his drink. “No matter. It will be difficult for them to base their designs off a weapon we have yet to obtain. Anything else to report, Zola?”

“N-nein, sir,” Zola forces a weak smile. “Just that HYDRA is happy to have you home.”

“Very good.” Schmidt turns in his chair to look out the window behind his desk, Zola letting out a relieved sigh and making his way back towards the elevator. “Oh and Zola? Get me a file on Howard Stark. His involvement in Erskine’s experiments is proving to be a nuisance.”

“Yes, Herr general.”

“And let me know the instant The Watcher arrives.” Zola’s finger pauses before hitting the button for the elevator. He makes a disgruntled noise and covers it up with a cough. Schmidt turns in his chair to glare at the little man, drumming his fingers on the desk. “What is it, doctor?”

Zola clears his throat and forces out a small laugh. “Well—you see—The Watcher has—well, he’s already here--”

“WHAT?!” The general leaps to his feet and smashes his glass on the floor. Zola fidgets his hands nervously together. “The Watcher is HERE and you didn’t TELL ME?! Where is he?!”

“I-I-I sent him to your private office, Herr general--”

Schmidt sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Zola distances himself as far as he can from the general, his back pressing into the elevator doors. The general approaches his assistant’s desk and gives her a little nod. She presses a hidden button just under her workspace and the wall hisses as it slides to reveal a hidden hallway. “Memo to me, strangle Zola after my meeting.” Schmidt waves a hand to Rumlow and the doctor whose face had paled. “You’re both excused, I will discuss my plans for you later. Now get out.” 

Rumlow salutes the general and Zola quickly copies him to do the same. Schmidt salutes them in response and watches the men step into the elevator. He sighs and grumbles to himself, slicking his hair back in place. Schmidt steps into the hallway and the wall hisses as it closes behind him.

*

Relatively speaking, the man waiting in Johann Schmidt’s hidden office was not a man at all but a humanoid being, much larger than any mortal man of Earth. He had grown bored of meditation and seemed somewhat fascinated by the large pool in the middle of the room. What looked as though they were once human beings were swirling and moaning in anguish, their arms reaching up towards the surface of the pool. He watches the figures move through the viscous liquid with glazed eyes.

“It’s a portal to the Underworld,” Schmidt hums, closing the door behind him. “One of my more personal obsessions, I must admit. You know even the most outrageous myths are based on some kind of truth. Magic is simply a science mankind has yet to understand and because of that it is regarded as a—heh—dark art.” Schmidt takes a seat at his desk and slouches slightly in his chair. The other man’s face continues to show no signs of interest or emotion, turning from Schmidt to look into the portal once more. “May I get you anything? A drink, something to eat, a—chair, perhaps?”

“No. I am compatible with the room.”

“You wouldn’t prefer to be seated?”

“I am sitting.”

Schmidt glances at the man’s posture. He was technically sitting, yes, his legs were crisscrossed in a seated position. “You would not prefer to be seated in a chair?”

“Does my levitation bother you, General Schmidt?”

“No, no, whatever’s comfortable for you.” Schmidt pours himself a drink and leans forward to rest his arms on his desk. “I must apologize for being late to our meeting, you see I was--”

The other man hums. “I knew you would be late.”

“Yes, I understand that. You’re able to foresee everything, I know. Anyways…” Schmidt sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “I needed to see Erskine’s experiments for myself since there’s been talk of SHIELD being on the verge of a breakthrough--”

“I know.”

His mouth twitches. “Well…much to my surprise Erskine’s newest addition to his—heh—super soldiers is this infant and already the boy is showing signs of the serum working and I thought--”

“You thought you’d council with me for my insight, General Schmidt, I know--”

“I KNOW!” The glass in Schmidt’s hand shatters from the tightness of his grip. Schmidt takes a deep breath and sighs, clearing his throat. “I know that you know, Uatu, I get the idea.” He stands to grab a towel from the bar, wiping off his hand and uniform.

Uatu watches him with some interest, cocking his head to the side. “Allow me your hand.” The man reaches out his own for Schmidt’s, the general not really questioning the request. “You speak poorly of the serum and yet the cuts in your hand have already healed. Would this new creation theoretically speaking be of equal strength and vigor?”

“That is why I have summoned you, Uatu. Only you would know the answer.”

The Watcher turns away and hums knowingly. Schmidt looks over his own hand. The shards had made visible cuts but Uatu was correct—they’d already healed over and were starting to fade. Anything deeper would take more than a few moments to do the same. And fatal wounds healed over a 24 hour period. Perhaps one of the more agreeable effects of the serum. However…if an infant were to heal a small wound as quickly as Schmidt…would his powers only grow with him?

“My plans will take time—many years at the most—but I cannot have anyone thwart them, Uatu. I must know if the child will be a threat to me.”

“You ask questions to which you already have the answers.”

“If I had the answers you would not be here,” Schmidt snarls, biting his tongue.

“Tell me, General Schmidt—do you fear death?” Schmidt’s face falls. Uatu turns to him when he doesn’t answer and quirks a brow. Schmidt furrows his. “Is that not why the serum affected you differently from the others?” Uatu glances at the portal, the souls inside still wailing. “Is it also why you keep death so close to you? So it does not catch you off guard?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because you are fearful of a child. I see it in your eyes, General Schmidt, and I know all. You fear this child because you know what he will become.”

“I fear the potential threat he may serve, yes. If you were in my position would you not feel the same?”

“War is petty. It serves no use to me.”

“But I could change the world for the better of mankind!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Uatu—only you can tell me if he is truly a threat to my cause. Is there a way to prevent him from destroying my plans?”

Uatu shakes his head and looks away. “It is dangerous to reveal the future.”

“I am a mortal man!” Schmidt snaps, growling in his throat. “You speak so freely of death because you have a choice of whether or not it will take you—I do not have such a luxury. Before I die I must cleanse this world of everything imperfect and unholy to create a base for a new empire. One that is based upon order and perfection—if it is to live and thrive I must live to lead it, to build it, to control it. You ask if I fear death, then yes. I fear a death which will rip me away from the empire I solely deserve! I wish to purge this world of the filth SHIELD has allowed to run rampant for too long. You see everything, Uatu, everything that has, does, and will exist. How do you find solace in watching a world so twisted upon itself and being able to do nothing?”

“It is not my place to interfere with the lives of mortals.”

“And yet, here we are,” Schmidt smirks, taking a seat and crossing his legs.

“The path you seek is destructive.”

“Is war not a pathway to peace? Is death not a gateway to life?” Schmidt smiles coyly and shrugs. “You watch the people of Earth choose to ruin their lives every day—I simply wish to improve them.”

The lights go out. Uatu levitates towards the middle of the room. He twists his hands together to create a small ball of light, the ball growing as Uatu moves his hands around it, eventually pulling and throwing out his arms. The light expands to create a translucent mirror like substance. With a whirl of colors and shapes, clearer images begin to appear upon the surface of the mirror. Schmidt leans forward in his seat and furrows his brow. The images appearing on and off were of himself and his armies.

“In twenty years’ time, the planets of this system will align, and with the cosmic cube at hand you shall open the portal in which the Titans were outcast. Using the cube you shall assert your dominance and you shall lead them with malice in your heart. With their reign of destruction and terror you will destroy the once mighty SHIELD and seize control of the Earth. HYDRA will create a new world order and you will rule all.”

Schmidt hums, watching the visions as Uatu presents them. “Alright, good so far, not bad--”

“There is the matter of the boy…” Schmidt frowns. “In these twenty years he will only grow and his body will become stronger every day. With SHIELD’s training he will become a mighty hero, the one this world needs and deserves. His heart will be pure and his body resilient. Be cautious, General Schmidt, for the boy known as Steve Rogers shall become the greatest hero this world has ever seen. If he should resist your new world order, if he should fight, your plans will fail…and you will die.”

With a flick of the lights The Watcher is gone, a soft chuckle left in his wake. Schmidt lets out a frustrated yell. He throws his desk against the wall and pants, collapsing into his chair. “Dammit,” he snarls, closing his eyes. “Damn Erskine and his serum…”

The door opens and Schmidt looks up, his assistant standing in the doorway. He sighs and rubs his temple. “Did things not go well?” she asks, looking around the room.

“You could say that.”

Schmidt stands and paces around the room, crossing his wrists behind his back. He mutters and curses to himself in German. His assistant watches him from the doorway. Schmidt sighs and walks towards the pool of the Underworld, the souls all continuing to moan and reach towards the surface in agony. He furrows his brow. The Watcher’s prediction was bothering him. His plan was so clean cut, so perfect, where could it possible go wrong? It couldn’t, that was the answer. “If…”

“Sir?”

He blinks and looks up at his assistant. “What?”

“You said ‘if.’”

“Hmmm…” Schmidt looks back down at the pool. “Uatu—The Watcher said ‘if’ as well…tell me, Angeline, what does ‘if’ mean?”

“It’s a conjunction used to introduce an additional clause. ‘If’ presents a condition.”

“Yes…a condition…” Schmidt places a hand over his mouth and narrows his eyes. “How quickly could you arrange a flight to the Americas?”

“I could have your plane ready in twenty minutes if I called down to the hangar now.”

He nods. “Very good. Find me Zola and Rumlow and send them to my office—immediately.”

*

The elevator doors open to a dark room. Rumlow steps out, Zola mumbling nervously to himself. Schmidt’s assistant gives Zola a shove and the elevator closes behind him. The entire office was dark. Both men approach Schmidt’s desk, his chair turned away from them. He was staring out the window and watching the new snow fall on the mountains. Zola clears his throat. Schmidt gives him no response.

“Uhh—sir? You wanted to see us?”

Schmidt lets out a small sigh. He swivels slightly in his seat to pick his glass up from the desk, swirling his drink in his hand. “Zola.” The smaller man makes a noise. “Rumlow.” The taller man grunts in response. “When a male lion wishes to take over another’s pride—do you know what it does? To the cubs?”

Zola looks to Rumlow who remains staring straight ahead, his arms folded behind his back. The doctor furrows his brow. “S-sir?”

“The male lion, Zola, if there are cubs in the pride it wishes to control, what does it do with them?”

“It kills them,” Rumlow answers, his stance not hesitating in the slightest.

“Very good.” Schmidt takes a sip of his drink and lets out another sigh. Zola shifts uncomfortably by Rumlow’s side. The only audible sound was of Zola’s feet fidgeting against the carpet. “Where’s the file I asked for?” Zola’s fidgeting stops. “The file on Stark—where is it?”

The doctor quickly approaches his desk and holds it out. “R-right here, sir!”

Schmidt takes the file from him. Zola steps back to stand beside Rumlow once more. Schmidt takes his time flipping through the pages and humming softly. “So…he’s married?”

“His wife, Maria, and son, Anthony,” Rumlow responds. “Both live with him in New York. Howard is the founder and CEO of an up and coming corporation known as Stark Industries. His wife, Maria, is a homemaker and watches after their son, Anthony, who’s six years old. He’s also the only heir to Stark Industries.”

“Good.” Schmidt closes the file. “HYDRA has no room for failure, gentlemen. Nothing can stand in our way.” He turns to top off his drink, Zola’s face falling. Rumlow’s eyes widen just slightly.

The pale, rubbery skin that had once covered his face and neck was gone. Its absence revealed a leathery flesh that was spread thin over the bone underneath. His eyes now looked as though they were sinking into his face. And there was no nose, there had never been a nose, simply a cosmetic piece of plastic; the lips were also gone, his flesh simply running to his gums and teeth. What was worse was that the pigment of the skin no longer resembled flesh but was rather a deep shade of red.

“S-sir, you—you took off your—y-your face--”

“Why should I hide who I am?” Schmidt snarls. “In twenty years the world will know my face—and I want them to remember it. Our focus as of today is to make our presence known. We’ll find the cube, we’ll build our numbers, and we’ll eliminate anyone in our way.” He finishes off his drink. “Rumlow--” Schmidt holds up Stark’s file, “--you know what to do.”

Rumlow nods and takes the file, saluting him.

Zola furrows his brow. “Sir—excuse me for asking—but why Stark--?”

“Zola.” Schmidt places a hand to his lips and looks over the smaller man, narrowing his eyes. “Your assignment is of the most importance…”

“Y-yes, sir! Anything to aid HYDRA.”

Schmidt turns his chair to face the window with a scowl. He laces his fingers together and places them against his lips, furrowing his brow in concentration. “You’ll be going to D.C. to infiltrate SHIELD. Fury will want the child to stay with SHIELD in order to keep his eye on his progress and Erskine’s in no position to refuse. SHIELD will keep him under some surveillance but obtaining him should not be difficult.”

“You believe him to be that much of a threat, sir? It will be years before--”

“It will be years before our plan for world domination will be complete!” Schmidt yells, cracking the window with his fist. “We cannot risk any room for error, Zola, this boy cannot mature with the serum running through his veins. He will become too powerful. Taking care of him now is our best option.”

“But, sir…won’t SHIELD expect us to--”

“No. Fury will not suspect me to think the boy a threat and Erskine is too naïve to believe me to lash out against the child. No one will expect an attack to be made.” He leans back in his chair. “Now go. Time is of the essence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zola and Rumlow both click their heels together and salute. “Hail HYDRA.” They dismiss themselves and walk towards the elevator, Rumlow pressing the button for it to return.

“And Zola?” The doctor turns to the desk as he steps into the elevator. “When you collect the boy—kill him.”


	3. Peggy Carter

**Triskelion, Washington D.C. (SHIELD’s Base of Operations)**

Steve squeals and babbles, grabbing Dr. Erskine’s glasses and waving them around in his fist. He takes a deep breath and lets out a shrill squeal, laughing at his own mischief. Erskine sighs and can’t help but smile. The doctor had been attempting to take Steve’s heartbeat for ten minutes now but apparently the thrill of his newfound strength and ability to breathe was exciting the child beyond exhaustion. It had been a month since the injection of the serum and already the baby was showing impressive—even hopeful—signs of improvement. He could sit up on his own, he was babbling in response to the nurses and doctors, and had full mobility of his limbs. He was capable of crawling—though he still showed favor towards being carried—and in the past few days had started sitting up on his own. There were no signs of lingering asthma or heart murmurs, he showed no discomfort breathing and his chest no longer caused him pain, and the curve in his spine had straightened. Of course he was still a few months behind in development but Dr. Erskine was sure that gap would be filled in no time.

“Steven, no,” Erskine takes his glasses back, Steve continuing to reach for them. “Those are mine.” He starts to whimper and his babbling turns into fussing. The nurse chuckles and holds her arms out, Erskine gladly handing him back. He pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket to clean off his lenses. “You don’t mind watching him for the night? He doesn’t fuss, does he?”

“Oh, no, he’s an angel.” The nurse places Steve in his crib. “Should I monitor his heart for murmurs again tonight, doctor?”

Erskine pushes his glasses back up his nose and chuckles. “No, I think he’ll enjoy not having electrodes on his chest for a night. Just give him his bottle and don’t forget to feed him again in about two hours. I want to keep his weight up. His body hasn’t adjusted to burning all of these calories quite yet.”

“Yes, doctor.” The nurse takes a bottle out of the microwave and holds it out towards Steve who grabs the bottle with gusto. He gurgles, suckling down the formula as fast as he can. The nurse laughs and strokes his hair. “He’s a funny little thing…” She runs a thumb over the plastic band on his wrist. “Steven Grant Rogers…did you name him, Dr. Erskine? You said you found him in an orphanage.”

“Grant was the name of the pastor who ran the facility he was in and the only information his mother gave when she left him was the name ‘Rogers.’” Erskine hums taking down a few notes. “Steven was my personal touch.”

“It suits him. I think he likes it too…he responds well to the name.”

“He didn’t have a name before.”

The nurse picks Steve up and pats his back. “Well he does now.” Steve lets out a huge yawn, his hands clutching at her scrubs and face burying into her shoulder. “Oh sure, you’re tired after you’ve eaten. You couldn’t be tired an hour ago.” She chuckles and lays him back down in the crib, draping a blanket over his swelled belly. His stomach rises and falls slowly. Steve lets out another yawn and stretches his arms out above his head.

“Is he already asleep?” Agent Romanoff pokes her head into the nursery, Dr. Erskine looking up from his notes. The nurse frowns. “Should I station outside the door again?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” the nurse shoos her out the door, shaking her hands. “I don’t need you in here again tonight, Agent Romanoff, I am perfectly capable of watching over an infant.” 

Natasha laughs. “I can’t even say goodnight? What if he has a bad dream?”

“No, no, no! Absolutely not! You kept him up all night the last time you were here and it left him fussy all day during his tests, now off with you!”

“Whaaat? I would never--” The nurse cocks her brow and Natasha chuckles. “Okay so I shouldn’t have played with him the other night…but he kept fussing when I left the room!”

“You shouldn’t have been in the room in the first place!”

Dr. Erskine sighs, smiling. “Now, now, Agent Romanoff, you know I can’t have him dozing off during his tests, he needs his sleep. I…think my nurses are all capable of watching him at least one night on their own. You should go home, get some sleep for yourself.”

Agent Romanoff frowns, furrowing her brow. “But doctor—if something were to happen…wouldn’t it be better if I were right outside?”

“Like I said,” the nurse lifts her scrubs just slightly to reveal a small pistol tucked into her waistband, “I am perfectly capable of watching over an infant. Besides…Dr. Erskine’s right, Agent Romanoff. You look as though you haven’t slept in a few days.”

She hesitates at the door, looking to Erskine who gives her a nod and motions for her to leave. Romanoff sighs. “Fine, I’ll go. Just for tonight though.”

“You’re too paranoid, Agent Romanoff,” Erskine chuckles. He collects his notes and turns off the small lamp in the corner. Both he and the women exit the room, Erskine pulling the door shut behind them. “But I suppose that’s what makes you the best, is it not?”

*

“He won’t need his bottle for another half hour or so. If he does start fussing go ahead and feed him, otherwise he shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“I’ll keep the door open so I can hear him if he needs me.”

“Very good. Have a good night, Josie.”

“See you tomorrow, Dr. Erskine.”

The lights shut off in the make-shift nursery and Steve lets out a little sigh. Just across the hall the nurse flicks on a small television set. Machines in the nursery whirr and hum in silence. The heat for the building comes on overhead, the vents creaking as they expand. Lights from across the hall flicker and reflect into the room and the show keeping the nurse’s attention murmurs and laughs at its own jokes. The door creaks just slightly as a shadow stumbles into it. A foot scuffs across the floor. Steve gurgles and opens his heavy little eyes to a dark room. He kicks off his blanket and kicks his legs twice more for good measure. His eyes start to adjust to the darkness, another shadow bumping into one of the machines. They swear under their breath. Steve squeals. He rolls onto his stomach and lets out a little huff, looking around for the cause of the noise. An ugly little man with tiny glasses was peering at him through his crib.

“Hello, there, my little infant,” Zola grins. “Don’t worry—I won’t hurt you.” He snickers. “Well…you won’t feel it anyway.”

Steve babbles softly and pushes himself over and up to sit on his haunches, watching the little man dig through his coat pockets. Zola pulls out a small bottle and mumbles to himself. He looks around the room and frowns. Steve watches him with interest as the tiny man shuffles around the room and begins to quietly open and close drawers and cabinets. His interest however doesn’t last very long as Steve starts yawning and sucking on his fingers and hand. He continues to babble cheerfully, switching hands after a while. The nurse’s TV just across the hall was still reflecting into the room.

“Verdammt. Why are there no syringes in this room?!” Zola hisses, fighting off his temper and shutting the drawer slowly. “Perhaps I could get him to ingest it somehow…” He turns around to find Steve standing and holding the side of the crib for support. “Oh. You can stand. I suppose that does make sense, given your age. Of course that would also mean the serum has already affected your basic motor skills…”

“Bah!” Steve squeals, reaching out towards the counter. Zola furrows his brow.

“Keep it down, you little bastard. What is it you want?”

“Baaahhhhaaaaa!” Steve shrieks, bouncing up and down on his pudgy legs. 

Zola shushes him and looks around, spotting the bottles and formula on the counter behind him. He chuckles and turns back to Steve with a wicked grin. “Very good, dummkopf, that shall be a perfect aid for killing you.” He reaches for the formula and looks over the back of the box, mumbling to himself. Zola pulls the tiny bottle from his coat pocket and holds it up for Steve to see with a grin. “With this in your formula it will look as though you died of natural causes, your fragile little body unable to adapt to the effects of the super serum. What a shame.”

Steve shrieks louder this time and shakes the side of the crib.

“Be quiet, you little--” Zola looks up when the nurse enters the doorway and yawns, reaching for the lights and rubbing her eyes.

“Alright, Steven, alright, I’m up.”

She flicks on half of the lights and looks around the room with a frown. Everything seemed to be where it should. The nurse rubs her eyes and sighs, approaching the counter. She opens up the formula and starts scooping some into one of the bottles, Steve squealing and babbling. He was reaching his arms out and staring intently at the cabinet just below where she was preparing his meal. The nurse glances at him and chuckles.

“There’s nothing in there for you, my angel, only some gauze and syringes. You wouldn’t like those.” The nurse glances at Steve again and gasps. Inside the cabinet Zola tenses up. “Well would you look at you!” She coos, scooping Steve up from his crib. “Look at my big man standing all by himself. Did you get up all on your own? What a big boy…” She holds him on her hip and bounces him lightly, mixing up the formula. “I’ll have to go right that down for the doctor in the morning…” The nurse places his bottle into the microwave and turns it on. She puts Steve back down in his crib. “Don’t go anywhere, my little explorer, I’ll be right back.”

Steve sucks on his hand again, Zola peeking out of the cabinet when he’s sure he’d heard her leave. He grabs a syringe from the cabinet and shoves it into his pocket. “Damn woman…if I stay here much longer I won’t be able to escape…” Zola glances at the microwave when it goes off. Steve lets out a shrill little noise and puts his other hand in his mouth, looking around the room. He babbles softly and watches as Zola carefully takes the bottle out of the microwave and digs through his pockets for the vile. “Dammit, where is it?” Steve continues to babble and waves his arms around.

“Myyaauuuu!” he squeals, bouncing on his bottom.

Zola shushes him. He spots the vile on the counter and snatches it, struggling to get the bottle to open. “Verdammt, I thought child-proof meant only the child couldn’t open it…” Zola pops the top off only to drop the whole bottle, the formula spilling across the floor. “DAMMIT!”

“Who the hell are you?!”

The nurse raises her pistol with both hands. Zola stays crouched down on the ground. She steps tentatively through the doorway, quickly making her way to Steve’s crib. He reaches up for her and she carefully scoops him up with one arm, keeping her gun pointed at Zola as she backs away from him slowly. “Don’t worry, baby, Josie’s going to get you out of here.”

“Now, now, my dear, there’s no need for--”

“Shut up,” she snaps. “Stay right where you are or I’ll shoot.” Steve grips her scrubs and starts to suck on them, whimpering at the shakiness of the nurse’s voice. The nurse sets down her gun and grabs the receiver from the wall. She keeps Steve bouncing on her hip, cooing and hushing him. She dials a number. Zola stays eerily quiet and still as she waits for a response. She chuckles in relief when someone picks up. “Agent Hill? We have an intruder--”

She lets out a little gasp and drops the phone. A sharp pain followed by numbness spreads through her side. Red starts to bleed through her scrubs. She lets out a whimper and drops to her knees, Zola lowering his gun. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Tch. What a pity.” He approaches her slowly, the nurse reaching for her gun on the counter while keeping Steve pressed firmly against her. “You know—you didn’t have to die. I only came for the boy.”

He starts to pry Steve from her arms but she shakes her head and struggles to keep her hold, letting out a little sob when Zola eventually pulls the baby from her grasp. “No, no, please, not the baby—not Steven, he hasn’t done anything, please…” She collapses onto the floor and grabs his pants leg as Zola steps over her.

“No,” he hums, holding up his gun. “Not yet anyway.” 

Her arm falls limp against the floor.

*

“What happened here?” Director Fury approaches the other agents swarming the halls. 

Agent Hill turns to him with a scowl, her arms crossed. She sighs and shakes her head. “An intruder. We haven’t identified them yet but we’re expecting results within the next few minutes.” They both look down at the agents taking care of the nurse.

“Cause of death?”

“Two bullets.” Hill bites her lip. “The first was in her central right abdomen, just to the side of her naval. The next shot was only a minute apart from the first above her left brow. That was the kill shot. It wouldn’t have mattered though she would’ve bled out from the first shot in a matter of minutes.”

Fury nods and looks around. Other agents were searching around the room, scanning and dusting the room for whatever they could find. “And the child?”

“They seemed to be after him.”

“Have you alerted Erskine?”

“He’s on his way…” She furrows her brow, glancing at the phone that was still hanging off the wall. “I should’ve been here faster. Even if—even if I couldn’t have saved her—at least I could’ve gotten the baby--”

Director Fury places a hand firmly on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Maria. You don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“What’s going on? Let me through!”

“Dr. Erskine--”

The doctor pushes past the agents at the elevator and runs down the hall towards the nursery. He stops short when he sees the agents and coroners surrounding the nurse on the floor. Erskine runs a hand through his hair, looking around in a panic. He shares a knowing look with Director Fury and lets out a little breath. The doctor takes of his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Agent Hill approaches him tentatively, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder and drawing away when he looks up at her.

“Dr. Erskine,” her voice chokes slightly in her throat. She looks down at her feet. “I’m so sorry…I should’ve responded faster--”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, putting his glasses back on with a sigh. “I should not have broken protocol. Agent Romanoff offered her services and I refused them. I did not imagine the boy would—that anything would happen--” Erskine rubs his eyes. “It was my fault.”

Fury steps forward. “Romanoff contacted me earlier about whether or not she should still station herself near the boy and I was the one who sent her home for the night, not you. The nurses under your supervision are fully trained agents; however, their lack of time in the field caused the woman here to underestimate her opponent. I would like to know why. This person obviously did not sneak up on her otherwise she would not have had time to call in the threat.”

Erskine nods. “Do we have identification yet?”

“Not yet. The labs are working on it and I have agents reviewing the security footage. Somehow our ghost didn’t set off the alarm which means he or she had help getting inside.”

“Any clues as to who?”

“We’ve ruled out the security desk,” Hill states, looking over her paperwork. “And all the custodial staff. We think it was one of our higher ranking agents. Someone who had access to this floor.”

“And to the boy,” Erskine sighs, placing a hand to his temple. “May I—may I see the room?”

The agents surrounding the doorway look up at Fury for the say-so, Fury nodding and motioning for him to go in. Erskine steps slowly inside, expecting something out of a horror movie but instead coming across nothing more than an empty hospital nursery and numerous agents scanning the cabinets for prints. He steps towards the small crib and furrows his brow.

“If the intruder didn’t startle Josie—why is there formula spilled on the floor?”

Agent Hill clears her throat. “We asked ourselves the same question…however my thoughts are that Josie came into the room while the intruder hid and started making the formula for the baby. He must’ve noticed the intruder right away and was making a fuss about it. Romanoff said the infant became extremely excitable whenever someone entered the room.”

“We believe kidnapping the child was not part of our intruder’s plan.”

Erskine furrows his brow and looks around. “If they were already in the room when Josie came in…and the phone is over there by the door…how did a grown adult hide from her? If they were already in the room they would’ve had to have stuffed themselves into one of these cabinets. And if the intruder came in while Josie was making the formula, they would’ve shot her here, not over there. But then she wouldn’t have had time to call downstairs.”

“Then…” Hill frowns. “Was the intruder making formula for the baby? Why? To keep him from making noise?”

“Director Fury.” One of the agents reading prints off the cabinets stands and salutes him, Fury nodding for him to go on. “We can’t get a read on any of these prints. At least—not an accurate one.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the person these prints belong to died…and I don’t mean are presumed dead. I mean their body was identified after a bombing in Berlin. They’ve been dead for years.”

Erskine stands from observing the spilt formula on the floor. “Were you given a name?”

“O-of course…” the agent hands Erskine his device. “A man—a doctor actually—who goes by Dr. Arnim Zola.”

He gawks at the picture on the screen, handing the device back to the agent and walking towards the crib. Erskine stares down at the empty bed. His knuckles turn white from the grip on the headboard.

Fury takes the device from the agent and looks over the picture, glancing at Erskine. “You know this man, doctor?” Erskine mumbles a response. Fury furrows his brow and steps towards the other man. “Dr. Erskine…do you know this man?”

“Arnim Zola…” Erskine mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair. “The response team arrived within minutes of the gunshots, yes?” Agent Hill nods. “That means we still have time—we can't let Zola leave the D.C. area with the boy, shut down the airports and do a full search, Zola will need the airlines to return to Germany. We can still save the boy--”

“You heard him!” Agent Hill orders, everyone turning to listen. “Call every airstrip in the D.C. area and shut them down no planes leave until each and every terminal is searched from top to bottom now move it!”

Director Fury catches Erskine’s arm and quirks a brow. “So you do know this man.”

Erskine shakes his head. “All I know is that if we don’t find Zola or the boy soon we won’t see either of them ever again.”

*

Agents had already begun swarming the streets. Zola swears under his breath and hurries through the dark, the rain coming down in torrential amounts. There was no point in attempting to find a plane at the airport. Zola knew SHIELD had already shut down the terminals and once HYDRA gained intel on that movement his plane had already been long gone. Now Zola’s only chance of getting back to base was getting out of D.C. and to arrange his flight to meet him elsewhere. 

He shuffles quickly through the rain and catches sight on a convenient store across the street. Right on the corner was a public telephone. Zola hurries across the street and screams at the cars that stop short for him and honk. He struggles to dig some kind of change out of his pockets with only one hand and has to stand on tip toe in order to reach the numbers to dial.

Inside his coat Steve continues to wail at the top of his lungs.

The line begins to ring, Zola snapping at the child to shut up. He shifts impatiently. His beady eyes continue to look around for anything suspicious, anyone that could be watching them. Zola tenses when the line picks up.

“Angeline? It’s Zola.” He sighs, swearing under his breath. “Yes, yes, I know the plane already left, listen—SHIELD knows I was here, I need another flight. It can’t be out of D.C. though.” Zola furrows his brow. “The—the child? Is he—of course he’s dead! I wouldn’t be calling if he wasn’t! Are you going to get me a flight or not, you stupid--” He scowls. “New York?! How the hell am I supposed to get to New York?! Yes I know we have a base we’re building there but—YOU’RE NOT LISTENING! I’m stranded in D.C. you verdammt bitch!” Steve wails louder when Zola yells, Zola shushing him and attempting to block out the noise. “Nothing, nothing, it’s nothing—New York, you said?” He nods and looks around. “Jah, I see the bus stop. It will take me to New York, you’re sure?” Zola sighs and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Very well. Tell Herr general I shall return shortly. Hail HYDRA.”

Zola grumbles to himself and looks both ways this time before making his way across the street, starting up a hill towards the bus bench. Steve was starting to hiccup from crying for so long. The little man frowns at the child. “Stupid boy…you’re a real pain in the ass, I hope you know. No matter…it will be minutes before my bus arrives and by the time it does you’ll have stopped crying altogether. In fact—with all this rain no one will notice your rotting body until morning.”

He sits down when he reaches the bench and pulls Steve out of his coat with a scowl. The baby was red faced and splotchy, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Zola grumbles and sets the infant on the bench next to him as Steve continues to scream, digging through his pockets. He pulls out the vile and a medical syringe he’d snatched from the cabinet, filling it with the black liquid from the vile.

“Scream as loud as you want, little bastard,” Zola chuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “No one is going to come save you. No one even knows where you are.” He picks Steve back up and places him on his lap. Steve struggles against his grip, Zola fighting to pin him down with one hand and hold the syringe in the other. “Stop squirming, you little--” Zola’s able to grab one of Steve’s arms. He holds it out straight, Steve’s crying starting to stop as he stares wide-eyed at the ugly little man and starts to whimper. The needle pricks Steve’s skin and he lets out another wail, flinging his arm out of Zola’s grip and the syringe flying to land a few feet away on the sidewalk, starting to roll down the hill. 

“Nein, nein, nein, nein, nein!” Zola jumps to his feet with Steve still in his arms and runs after it, catching it with his foot. He lets out a sigh of relief. Steve struggles in the awkward position Zola was holding him. The little man chuckles and holds Steve up by his armpits to look at him face to face. “A nice try, little dummkopf, but a futile attempt.” Steve whimpers. “You can only escape the jowls of death for so long…”

Steve grabs Zola’s glasses off of his face and giggles, waving them around in his fist. “What are you doing?!” Zola snaps. “Give those back, I need those to--” Steve flings the glasses away, Zola looking around frantically for them but unable to see anything without them. “No…” He steps back to look around but the syringe then rolls away from his foot, Zola screaming in frustration. “NO!”

He sneers at the now babbling infant in his arms. “You…you little BRAT!” Zola gives Steve a shake and he starts to cry again, Zola paying him no mind. “How did you do it?! How did you outsmart me?!” He gives Steve another shake and the baby wails as loud as he can.

“Hey!” A woman rounds the corner, Zola having to squint through the rain and the dark to see the figure coming towards him. “What are you doing?” Steve continues to shriek and sob. A bus comes around the corner as the woman walks towards Zola, the little man starting to panic, looking from the figure moving towards him and his one chance for escape. Zola drops the baby and runs towards the bus stop, the woman letting out a scream and running to Steve.

The bus pulls up to the stop and opens the doors. Zola quickly looks towards the woman scooping up the child and jumps on board, pulling out his gun. “You’ve got five seconds to close these doors, now drive!”

“Hey!” The woman stands back up with Steve pressed safely against her. “Stop that bus--!” By the time she’d started towards the doors they’d closed and the bus was pulling away as she bangs on the side. The bus pulls around the corner and the woman sighs, looking down at the baby in her arms. Steve was sniffling and sobbing and tugging at the woman’s coat. She ducks under the hood for the bus stop to get out of the rain.

The woman pulls her scarf off of her dripping hair and shakes out her curls. She looks down at the baby in her arms. Steve squirms and whimpers, hiccupping slightly from crying so much, sucking on his hand. She smiles and looks him over. For being dropped so abruptly onto a cement walkway he seemed to be unharmed. She furrows her brow. “He—he dropped you…how have your scrapes healed already?” The large gash on the back of Steve’s head from hitting the pavement had already scarred over and was starting to pale. “What in the world--?”

Steve babbles and reaches for her face, whimpering, his bottom lip quivering. She stares at him for a moment before looking around, searching for a figure moving through the rain, somebody who looked as though they were desperately searching for a child. Surely someone was missing this baby. The woman sighs and looks back down at him. She smiles. Steve continues babbling softly, the woman taking off her shawl and wrapping him snuggly, rocking him in her arms. He reaches up to touch her painted red lips. His little hands grab her face and he smiles. She smiles in response. Her eyes rest on the plastic bracelet around his wrist. She looks it over and furrows her brow.

“Steven Grant Rogers…huh,” she smiles and runs a hand over his hair. “Don’t worry, little one, you’re with Peggy now.” He babbles cheerfully and holds her face in his tiny hands, Peggy pressing her forehead against his. “I’ll take care of you.”

He yawns and Peggy tucks him safely in her arms. She pulls her scarf back up over her hair and looks around before stepping back out into the rain, making sure to tuck Steve safely inside her coat to keep him shielded from the rain. As Peggy rounds the top of the hill, several agents run through the rain, not noticing the sounds of a baby babbling in the safety of a young woman’s arms merely two blocks away.

*

“SHIELD searched all the airports, every terminal within the D.C. area, but by the time they got word of Zola’s whereabouts, there was no baby in sight.”

Janet hums and looks up at the portraits of Steve, smiling softly. “Poor Steve had escaped the wicked fate Zola had in store for him and found himself in the gentle arms of a young Peggy Carter who’d soon become his whole world. She checked with numerous police stations to ask if a child had gone missing and asked for the whereabouts of a Dr. Abraham Erskine, but according to the police, no one by that name ever existed. As far as Peggy was concerned, Steve had been abandoned and the one thing he needed most was someone to love him.

However…SHIELD’s hope for a hero was lost. Erskine attempted to win Fury over with the assurance that his serum would work, that another child could become the hero they needed, but it was decided that the life of another innocent child was not worth giving hope to the masses. The super soldier experiments were terminated and Dr. Erskine disappeared with all of his research.

As for Schmidt and his endeavors with HYDRA, he believed Steve dead and carried on with his plans for domination, believing that nothing could stand in his way.

But 3500 miles away, Peggy was raising Steve as her own, his body growing and adjusting to the serum that ran through his veins, giving him inhuman strength and speed. Peggy raised him to be good and honest, a decent boy with a bright future, one who could one day change the world…”


	4. Freak

**Eighteen Years Later - Somewhere on the coast of Maine…**

A woman in a loose fitting blouse steps out onto the porch and looks around. Peggy Carter had bought this house eighteen years ago when she unexpectedly became a single mother of a rather… _unique_ baby boy. After so many years she’d expected someone—anyone—to come looking for the boy but no one ever did. So she made do with what she could.

“Steven?”

The wind picks up, Peggy keeping a hold of the scarf on her head as she steps out into the yard. Peggy had grown rather fond of it here. When the wind picked up she could smell the ocean and it was rather brisk but it didn’t nearly rain as much as it did at her home in England. She furrows her brow and looks up the large oak tree in the yard. It was hard to see anything through all the leaves. Peggy steps back towards the house and sighs, the wind rushing through the fields.

“Steven!”

A boy leaps off of the roof, Peggy letting out a tiny shriek and clutching her blouse. She sighs and places a hand to her temple. “Steven… _how_ many times must I tell you--?”

“Sorry, Peggy,” he replies sympathetically. Steve points up towards the roof with his hammer. “I was just trying to fix the--”

“Never mind that,” she interrupts. “I told you I’d get a contractor out here when I could. Now…when are you going to apply for school?” Peggy places a hand on his back and nudges him towards the house. “You’re a smart boy, Steve, you could do anything you wanted!”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. The wind picks up again and blows his hair out of place. He’d grown tall and while he was thin there was a broadness to his shoulders and a bulge to his arms. After eighteen years he’d grown into a healthy, strong young adult. None of his prior ailments had lingered.

“Ah, Peggy, you know school isn’t for me…” Steve rubs his neck, climbing the stairs to the porch. “I know you want me to find somewhere I can fit in and make friends but I—I’m no good at it, you know that.” He opens the door for her, pulling it off its hinges as if it were a butterfly’s wing. Steve flushes and tries putting it back, Peggy patting his arm and Steve mumbling an apology.

She laughs lightly and pulls the scarf from her hair. “Don’t worry about it, you can fix it later.” Steve sets it back in the doorway, leaning the door against the frame and stepping back cautiously to make sure it stays. Peggy sighs. “Steve…I know—I know it’s been hard…I just don’t want you to end up wasting the rest of your life in this town. You could make something of yourself, Steve, you could be somebody!”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, sitting down on the stairs. “Maybe in the circus…”

“Steven!” Peggy snaps, clicking her heel on the hardwood. She places her hands on her hips. “When I say that you’re meant for greatness I mean it! I’m not just wasting my breath!” Peggy’s face softens, taking his face in her hands and lifting it to look at her. “God didn’t make you like this without a reason. It’s just figuring out what that reason is.” He gives her a smile, Peggy pecking his forehead. She leaves a small stain from her lipstick. “That’s better…now…” her heels click against the floor as she walks into the kitchen, “what should we have for dinner?”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Peggy… _always_ knew what to say… He pushes himself up and moves the door to lean against the wall, grabbing his toolbox from off the porch. 

She’d been preaching about his greatness since he could remember. No matter the amount of damage he accidentally caused, the people he scared, the fights he was in…Peggy would tell him he was special, that he mattered, that he was a somebody. She tried her best to find other things he was good at too; Steve liked drawing and painting, he learned how to cook and fix things around the house—because he was usually the one that broke them. Peggy tried, and Steve loved her for it, it was just…Steve was different. 

All his life he’d been different. Steve had never been sick, he’d never broken a bone, he never felt tired or worn down. He could outrun cars, lift up houses, and bend just about anything in half. Any cuts, gashes, scrapes, punctures, and bruises healed in a matter of time. Peggy said he was blessed, that there was nothing abnormal about him. But Steve didn’t _feel_ normal. He felt like an outsider. Like he was on the other side of a window stuck looking in.

Steve wondered sometimes if he wasn’t so obviously different…would he feel normal? Like everyone else?

“Great…” Peggy grumbles, stepping out of the kitchen. “I need to make a trip into town. We’re out of bread and milk and I don’t have anything to make for dinner…” She ties her curls up under her scarf and glances at Steve. He finishes screwing the door back on and tests it—gently—smiling at the progress. “You should come with me. We could try selling some of those paintings again, extra money is always good.”

“Are--” Steve tenses, his face falling. He wipes his hands on his jeans. People in town didn’t like him too much. “Are you…sure?”

“Of course!” she grabs his jacket off the rack and hands it to him. “And! You can pick out something you like. How about that?”

Steve shrugs, pulling on his jacket. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

Peggy tosses him the keys. Her painted lips pull into a smile. “You can even drive.”

*

Town was about ten miles from the house. The road that took them there was mainly gravel and dirt and only one car could fit on it at a time. It came out onto a two lane paved street that was used as the main road for the town. Only a few thousand or so people lived in the area so everyone knew everyone else. People liked Peggy. The men especially. They thought she was a firecracker with her dark hair and red lipstick. She had a bit of a bold personality and called people out on their ignorance which Steve loved about her. He just wished people had better things to say about him. It seemed whenever he showed his face in town the people scattered as they went about their business.

Fortunately no one could spot him pushing the truck into town. Not three miles down the road and they’d blown a tire. Peggy had offered to push too but she didn’t have the right shoes for it. Besides to Steve it felt like he was pushing a wagon.

“Alright,” Peggy grumps, climbing out of the truck. “You alright?” Steve nods, barely out of breath. “Damn, piece of junk.” She kicks the blown tire with a scowl. “I just bought these too!” Peggy places her hands on her hips and looks around, her eyes narrowing on the auto garage. “Guess I’ll have to haggle with the boys today…” she picks up her pocketbook and pulls out a cosmetic mirror and her lipstick, Steve smirking. Peggy re-applies the color and smacks her lips together. “You wait by the truck, this won’t take long…”

Steve leans against the bed of the truck, the tires skidding in the gravel as it starts to move. He stands up straight, stepping away from the vehicle, Peggy biting her lip. She holds up her hands and smiles.

“Try…not to touch anything,” she pecks his cheek and ruffles his hair. “How about you take the paintings over to Sawyer and see if he’ll buy any of them? I’m going to argue for a free tire and pick up the groceries…alright?” Peggy looks both ways, making her way across the main road. She waves back at him. “When you’re done wait for me by the truck!”

He waves her off and sighs, grumbling. “Yeah, yeah, I know…wait by the truck…don’t touch anything…”

A few people walking by purposely walk further around him to get by, the ones in pairs whispering to one another. Steve sighs and grabs his paintings from the back of the truck. He holds them up so they don’t drag against the ground as he treks his way towards the last shop in the parking lot. 

It wasn’t really a shop though. It was a plastic canopy that the vendor set up over the art goods he bought and sold. The vendor—Sawyer—was a heavy set man who didn’t particularly care for Steve—much like everyone else—but he talked to him at least. Though by the tone in his voice Steve figured it was because he was afraid of him—much like everyone else. Steve waits patiently as Sawyer attempts to woo some elderly women into purchasing something. They catch sight of Steve out of the corner of their eyes and wave the vendor off, quickly scurrying away.

Sawyer tenses up, Steve clearing his throat.

“H-hey, Mr. Sawyer,” he smiles politely. “I have two new ones for you…if you’d like?”

The man clears his throat and forces a shaky smile. “Oh…hello, Steve…” he motions for him to set the paintings on the table, “let’s see what you got then.” Steve bites his lip and looks around. People walking in and out of the stores turn their heads away when he catches their eye. He sighs. Steve went to school with some of these people, most he graduated with. Others watched him grow up. Peggy had been bringing him here since he could walk. But the minute people started learning about his…“special powers” everyone was afraid of him. “Well,” Sawyer coughs. “I can give you $75 each. How—how does that sound?”

“$75? Well, I--”

“$100!”

Steve furrows his brow. “Huh? But I didn’t--”

“Fine! $120!” Sawyer pulls the money out of his deposit box and hands it to Steve. “That’s $240. Is that good? Yes?”

“Oh, uhh…yeah,” Steve smiles hesitantly. “Th-thanks, Mr. Sawyer, that’s great.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid, I—I gotta go.” He puts up his ‘Be Back Soon’ sign on the table and hurries away towards his van, Steve frowning.

“Yeah…okay…”

He sighs and pockets the money, scuffing his foot in the gravel. As he walks back towards the truck the people span out again to do everything they can to avoid him. Steve had learned to ignore it over the years but it still stung of course. When he was little he could remember getting separated from Peggy in the store once. He reached out to everyone around him but no one would touch him, get near him, paid him any attention. Eventually Steve just sat in the middle of the aisle and cried. Peggy found him of course, made everything seem better, but he could remember her struggling to explain why no one wanted to help him, why no one liked him. She didn’t really have a reason.

Not being able to control it felt like the worst part. Steve didn’t know why he was the way he was he just was. It didn’t feel fair being quarantined for something he couldn’t control. All he wanted was to be liked, to have a friend, anyone. If he could have anything in the world…Steve would want to be just like everyone else.

Steve leans—gingerly—against the truck with his hands in his pockets. He smiles when Peggy trudges over to him with a tire under her arm. She sets it down and groans, leaning her arms against the truck.

“I hate tires…they’re not heavy, just awkward to carry.”

“You could’ve rolled it,” Steve suggests.

She snorts, shaking her head. “The way people in this town drive? I don’t think so.” Peggy wipes her forehead on her sleeve. “Think you can hold the truck up while I change the tire?” Steve nods, Peggy grabbing her kit from the bed. She rolls the tire towards the busted one, Steve lifting up the truck with ease. “So…what did Sawyer give you for the paintings?”

“$240.”

“ _Each_?!”

He shakes his head. “No, no, $120 each, $240 in total.”

Peggy removes the old tire and shoves it aside, putting the new one in place. “Well…that’s not too bad then, huh? Some extra money for school or—whatever.” She finishes screwing the last nut on and huffs. “Alright, you can set it down now. Just sling the old one in the back and we can figure out what to do with it later. I’m going to get the groceries.” She grabs a rag from the truck and wipes off her hands, tossing her tools back into the bed. “You’re welcome to come in with me. Pick something out?”

“No, that’s alright. I’ll just—wait out here.”

“Suit yourself,” Peggy smiles, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve watches her go, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wouldn’t be welcome anyways. A few boys were playing on the other side of the parking lot, Steve sighing and watching them. He’d never had a friend. No one had ever invited him to join in at school or on the playground. It was hard growing up knowing he was so disliked by everyone. Steve walks along the road, people continuing to glance and whisper at him. He tries to ignore it.

“Catch it, Davie!”

The smallest in the group jumps to catch the Frisbee they were tossing, excitedly letting out a noise. Steve smiles and leans against the telephone pole. It shifts just slightly, his feet skidding in the gravel. He stands straight and looks around. No one had seemed to notice. The pole didn’t seem too out of place though, it had barely even moved. Steve doesn’t bother with it. Peggy had already reminded him not to touch anything.

He walks quickly away from it, keeping his head down as he passes by a few people, hands shoved into his jacket. The Frisbee the boys were playing with lands at his feet. Steve stops and stares down at it, glancing up at the boys.

“I got it!”

Steve blinks as the little boy runs right up to him. He smiles lightly and crouches down, picking up the disc and holding it out to the boy. “Here you go.”

The kid smiles at him and takes the disc. “Thanks…” He looks towards the older boys approaching them and back at Steve with a toothy grin. “Do you wanna play too?” 

“No, Davie, let’s go!” His brother grabs the little boy’s arm and pulls him away from Steve, trying to get him to walk faster. The boy looks back at Steve obviously confused by his brother’s reaction. Steve frowns when the older boy scowls at him. He pulls his brother along, Steve turning to walk away. “Mom says not to talk to that guy, he’s a freak.”

A pang shoots through Steve’s chest, turning to look back at the boys as they walk away. He sighs and kicks up some of the gravel. Even little kids weren’t giving him a chance. Steve gives up trying to integrate with the crowd and goes back to waiting for Peggy, leaning against the back of the truck. So much for trying to prove himself. He didn’t belong here, Peggy was right about that much, but where else was he going to go? Some other crappy little town where everyone pegged him as a freak before they got to know him? Steve didn’t even know half the people in this town by name because they never bothered to even introduce themselves. Some wholesome community.

“GO LONG!”

The little boy runs towards him, struggling to keep up with the disc in the air. He keeps his eyes plastered on it as it flies and his arms in the air ready to catch it. Steve watches him run past and glances towards the road, furrowing his brow. “Hey, kid--”

“Davie, watch the road!”

Steve runs after him, catching the kid with one arm as the disc skids out into the road, his shoulder ramming into the telephone pole. It lurches, Steve swearing under his breath. Cars screech on the pavement as the pole moves forward, people screaming, others getting out of their cars. Steve lets go of the kid and wraps both his arms around the pole as it starts to fall, pulling as hard as he can to set it upright. He sighs and pushes it back down into the ground, brushing off his hands. Steve turns around and looks back down at the kid and smiles at him, the boy smiling back up at him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Steve hears a metallic snapping sound. One of the cables breaks loose from the electrical box and plummets downward towards the road. People scream and run from their cars, the cable smashing down on top of them. Steve pulls the boy into him and huddles around him, sparks flying in every which direction as the cable sputters and hisses, shooting out electricity. The noise begins to die down, Steve glancing over his shoulder.

He lets go of the boy and sits up, looking him over. “You alright?” The boy nods, grinning at him like that was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. Steve wasn’t used to people smiling at him like that.

“Davie!”

“My baby!”

His mother and the older boys run towards them, other people starting to come out of hiding and looking around. Davie runs to his mother and she scoops him up into her arms. Steve stands, anxiously watching the people around him.

“Oh, my baby, thank God you’re alright,” she kisses his hair, Davie squirming against her. Her eyes rest on Steve. She sneers at him, Steve recoiling, taking a step back. “What’s wrong with you? You could’ve hurt someone!”

“Yeah!”

“You’re lucky no one got killed!”

“I…I was just…I was just trying to help…”

Steve adjusts his position against the crowd, backing slowly towards the truck. Sirens were beginning to sound. The people keep walking towards him. Steve raises his hands defensively. He wished they’d just walk around and avoid him like they had. They all grumble and yell amongst themselves, Steve’s stomach twisting when his back hits against the truck.

“Steven!” He looks around, Peggy dropping her groceries, her milk and eggs spilling out all over the ground. She beelines towards the crowd, a fire in her eyes, waving her arms at all of them. “Back off! What the hell do you think you’re doing? What's the matter with all of you?” She catches sight of the downed cable in the road and gasps, placing a hand to her mouth. Peggy glances at Steve and back at the crowd, scowling at all of them.

The sirens get louder, a fire engine pulling up at the cable, an ambulance and a police car pulling into the parking lot. The sheriff gets out of the car and walks up towards the crowd. He steps between the people and Peggy, letting out an aggravated sigh. “Alright…what happened here?” His eyes shoot directly towards Steve, Steve bowing his head as Peggy steps in front of him defensively.

“We want that boy _arrested_!”

“He’s not safe to be around _normal_ people!”

“I just--” Steve stutters. “I was just trying to catch the kid before he ran into the road--”

“Get in the truck, Steven,” Peggy whispers, her tone hard and strict. Steve does as she says, dodging around to quickly climb into the passenger seat. She glares at the crowd. “That cable could’ve come down at any time! What’s the point in blaming my Steve? It was an _accident_.”

“You can’t keep defending him, Ms. Carter!”

“That boy’s a menace!”

Peggy crosses her arms. Steve crouches down in the car, watching from out the back window. “He can’t control it! He’s not trying to hurt anyone he’s just trying to help.”

“Someone could’ve gotten hurt!”

“My Davie could’ve gotten killed!”

“ _FREAK_!”

The crowd yells and murmurs amongst itself, the sheriff sighing, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, alright, simmer down. Ms. Carter, we’ve talked about this…you can’t keep bringing that kid into town if he’s going to _destroy_ everything!”

“And I’ve told _you_ ,” she snaps, standing on her toes to get in his face. “That I’m not isolating him like some wild animal. He’s a person _just_ like you and me.”

“People don’t knock down telephone poles, Peggy! Look at what he did!” Steve cringes, the sheriff motioning towards the sparking wire and crushed cars. “Now, I can’t tell you what that boy is, Peggy, but he most certainly is not a person. People can’t do things like this.”

“Don’t you _dare_ insinuate anything about my son in front of me--”

“For god’s sakes, Peggy, he’s not your son! I’m surprised you even want to call him your son after everything he’s done to terrorize this town!”

Steve’s heart drops into his stomach as he buries his face into his arm. The crowd murmurs in agreement. He could practically hear the way Peggy was fuming, her red lips drawn thin, fists clenched white by her sides, eyes burning holes into their skulls.

“How dare you,” she snarls. “All of you! How dare you slander him like this! Steven is the kindest, gentlest boy I could ever had the pleasure of raising as my own. Sweeter than any of your punk ass brats. Now he has never hurt a single thing in his life—man or creature—and you bastardize him like he’s gone on some sort of killing spree! I could point out every single child in this town that I’ve caught shooting bee-bees at squirrels or birds or shaving cats for fun. Now he’s a little different, yes. He can’t control his strength and sometimes it gets the best of him. If you didn’t treat him the way you did he’d offer right now to help hook that cable back up, to help fix your cars and the roads. But I’d rather he never talk to any single one of you soulless beings ever again!”

No one in the crowd says a word. A gust of wind picks up and blows the scarf from her hair. She stands her ground, glaring at all of them. The sheriff lowers his voice, stepping towards her. “Now, Peggy, there’s no need to--”

“If you have anything else to say to me, _sheriff_ , you can visit me at home. My boy's been through enough today.” 

Peggy curls her lips at him, at all of them, turning on her heels to climb into the truck. She starts it and swerves it around to back into one of the other cars. The truck skids forward, kicking up dust and rocks as Peggy hits the gas and speeds onto the road, the crowd yelling slurs and slanders after them. Steve squeezes his eyes shut. He sinks into his seat and rests his head against the door.


	5. Go the Distance

Steve stays seated on the back porch even as the argument inside starts getting heated. He sighs. It wasn’t like it was his fault. It was an accident. He wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, Steve would never…what did it matter? Everyone here thought he was some kind of monster anyways. The only way he was ever going to prove himself was by leaving but he couldn’t just abandon Peggy. She was his everything and he was all she had.

“You’re not taking him anywhere!”

“Peggy, the point of the matter is that you can’t keep defending him like this. Someone could’ve gotten hurt today…how many times is this going to happen before you keep him under control?”

“He’s not a dog! He’s a boy!”

“Which makes his actions even more difficult to process, Peggy!” the sheriff sighs. There’s a pause, Steve wrapping his arms around himself. “Look…I like you Ms. Peggy. A lot of people in this town like you. I could name a lot of names who would hate to see you get hurt defending that boy.”

He lifts his head when Peggy starts to sob.

“Well, sheriff, whether you like it or not I’ll defend that boy until my dying breath. You or anyone in this town lay a single hand on his head and you’ll have to take me down first!”

Footsteps inside the house walk further and further away, the front storm door making a sound when the sheriff pushes it open. “I’m sorry to hear that, Peggy. Fact is a lot of people are gunning for that boy of yours. This is his last warning before I take him into the station, you understand?” She scoffs at him, blowing her nose. “I’d rather he stop coming in to town altogether. Folks are just—they’re scared of him. Sooner or later someone’s going to get hurt.”

The screen door slams against the frame, Steve listening as the sheriff’s car starts up and pulls down the gravel road. Steve sighs and hangs his head. So…it was either stay up here away from everyone or get arrested for showing his face in town. What a choice.

Peggy pushes open the back door and wipes her eyes, sniffling. Steve glances up at her and she smiles, Steve frowning and looking away. She walks to the edge of the porch and places her hands on her hips. The wind gushes over the lawn, Peggy taking a deep breath and humming.

“Smell that ocean, huh?” she chuckles, running a hand over her hair. “Could rain later tonight as well.” She looks over towards the barn and nods. “You should get your canvases inside before it does. Wouldn’t want those getting ruined, hmm? Art supplies these days are expensive.” Steve grunts in response, Peggy frowning. Her eyes light up. “There you go! You could go to art school! There’s a great university in New York! Or…you could go to Chicago or California--”

“Peggy--” Steve pushes himself up off the porch. “I messed up, okay? All I ever do is try to help and no one cares! I know you told me to wait by the truck but I couldn’t just stand there while that kid ran out in the road, could I?”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Peggy smiles. “Because you’re wonderful and good--”

“Knock it off, Peggy, I’m not in the mood. I’ve always been different from the other kids, you and I both know that. Other kids can’t pick up cars or move buildings! And how do you—how do you explain why I’ve never been sick or had a fever? Or why every time I’ve gotten a cut or a bruise I’ll go to bed and wake up and it’ll just be gone?”

She sighs, reaching out for him. “Steve--”

He pushes her away and scowls. “No, okay? They’re right about me! They are! I’m not normal and I’m not special I’m just a—a freak! One of these days I am going to hurt someone and I’m not going to be able to do anything about it!” Steve’s eyes well up with tears, Steve wiping them away. “I could hurt you…” Peggy’s face falls. “What would I do then?”

Steve sobs, Peggy stepping down off the porch and pulling him into a hug. She runs her hand over his hair and hums in his ear, rocking him slowly. He buries his face into her shoulder and hugs her back. Peggy closes her eyes. “Steve, listen to me…there’s nothing wrong with you. The reason you are the way you are is because that’s how someone wanted you to be.” She sighs, rubbing his back. “Answers aren’t always easy to find. Not everyone discovers who they are or what their purpose in life is…but I swear--” Peggy pulls back to cup his face in her hands, smiling, “--when you find it you’ll be the brightest star in the sky. You just need to show them how wonderful you really are, then they’ll see.”

“Peggy…” Steve gently pulls away from her. “I just—sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here…like I don’t belong anywhere. Like there's something else waiting for me.”

“Steve…”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense…” he sighs, shaking his head.

Peggy bites her lip and stays by the porch, Steve shoving his hands into his jacket as he walks through the yard.

*

What if he _did_ hurt Peggy? 

The ocean laps up against the side of the cliff, Steve sighing and sitting down on the edge. He watches the sun set in the distance, the ocean moving calmly against its rays. Steve picks up a stone and tosses it. He lost count of how many times it skipped.

Steve would never forgive himself if something happened to Peggy. He was dangerous enough to be around. As the years went by it just seemed like he got stronger and stronger and Steve had no idea how to control it. Whether he was shifting building foundations or…knocking down telephone cables. He sighs and runs a hand over his hair. Steve glances down at the small fishing dock where the boats were starting to come in. He could always get a job there…Steve snorts. Until he somehow made a hole in the hull and the boat sank.

What good was it being different if everyone hated him for it?

When Steve was younger he dreamed about being a superhero. Every kid could say they’d done the same but Steve felt it, deep down in his very core that that was what he was meant to do. That he was meant to help people. But no one here believed he could do it. They were too afraid to even give him a chance. Peggy always told him he just needed to prove himself, that he’d find his chance, but Steve wasn’t sure his chance was here. The places he dreamed of were far away. They were warm and welcoming and people were happy to see him. Everyone loved him for just being him. That was where he was meant to be. It was home. 

But that was stupid. Peggy was his home. She was everything he ever needed. He’d have nothing if it wasn’t for her. Peggy loved him and he’d always have that but what if there _were_ other people who were capable of loving him too? The world was a strange and unusual place…Steve couldn’t be the only one who was different.

The sun finally sets, the sky beginning to turn dark, clouds rolling in from the west. Steve sighs and gets up, walking back towards the house. He could barely see it from where he was. Peggy was sure to be wondering where he was now. Steve lets his arms hang loose by his sides, his hands running over the tall grass. He takes a deep breath. The smell of the grass, the dirt, the spray of the ocean in the air; bugs were starting to chirp and he could hear the owls come out for the evening; the tall looming trees of birch and pine and the faint scent of their needles. This was home. 

What if he did belong somewhere else though?

Steve couldn’t deny that he always had a feeling deep down in his gut that told him there was a place far from here meant just for him and Peggy told him that sometimes he had to trust his gut. He just wasn’t so sure his gut was right. If there was such a place…he’d have to leave Peggy. Steve owed her so much. A home, food, education—she was the only that had ever wanted him.

But he couldn’t just live with her forever. Steve wanted to give her a family. He wanted to make friends that would stop by just to say ‘hello.’ He wanted to know what it was like to fall in love, to have his heart broken, and then to find the one—that one special, magical person that would make him feel like he’d never been alone after all. Peggy couldn’t give him all that. And Steve certainly wasn’t going to find it waiting around here, wishing and begging for something to happen.

A light was shining in the house, Peggy walking around inside the kitchen. She was probably making tea. Steve huffs and shakes his head. If anything he wanted to make her proud of him. But he couldn’t do that stuck here. He walks around to the front of the house where the oak tree stood. Steve glances at the house. The tire swing Peggy had made for him was still swinging proudly. Steve hadn’t been on it in years. He pulls himself up onto the lowest branch and keeps climbing. Climbing higher and higher until he reaches his usual branch, high up in the tree where he could see the sky as far as it reaches with all of its blues and blacks and twinkling stars shining down upon him.

Steve leans back against the trunk of the tree, his leg dangling from the branch and arms resting across his stomach. He gazes up at the sky. The stars almost seemed dull tonight. They wink down at him, their voices barely whispers as they tell him about how vast the world is, how there was somewhere out there for him. Clouds start to roll in, leaving only a small patch of stars for him to see, Steve staring up at them desperately.

Peggy had told him once that if there really was a God or gods that they would live among the stars because it would be the most beautiful, celestial place for an all-knowing being to live.

He wasn’t so sure that he’d ever believed in God. Steve liked to think that there was someone up there that had all the answers…but he found it hard to have faith in a creator that would make him so different. He sighs and closes his eyes. “H-hello?” Steve clears his throat. “Look I—I don’t know if anyone’s up there…but I’m lost.” Steve opens his eyes, frowning. “I believed for so many years that I could find a place here—with Peggy—but I’m not so sure anymore. I just want somewhere that I belong. Somewhere…anywhere…” he bites his lip. “I’ll go anywhere to find an answer. No matter how far away…I’ll walk if I have to! Just—please. I need to know who I am. I need a sign, anything. I just want somewhere I belong.”

A star shoots across the sky, Steve raising his brow.

The porch lights turn on, the storm door creaking open as Peggy walks outside. She looks around and sighs. “Steve? Are you out here?” Steve sits up and hesitates, looking back up at the stars. They wink at him. He climbs down a few branches before jumping, landing on his feet. Peggy smiles lightly, Steve noticing the way her eyes seemed puffy. “Steve, I—I think we need to talk…” He furrows his brow, Peggy reaching out to take his hand. “It’s something I should’ve told you about a while ago…”

Peggy loops her arm with his and leads him inside. She takes his jacket and hangs it up, nudging him towards the couch. It was unusual for her to be so stoically serious. Steve sits down and notices the tea already set up on the coffee table. There was a photo album sitting next to the tray. He frowns. It was one of those talks.

She sits down next to him and sighs, pouring the tea. Steve stays quiet. The clock ticks on the wall. He takes his tea and forces a smile. Peggy sips hers and sets it down. Both of their eyes rest on the album, Peggy chuckling dryly and picking it up.

“I found this in the closet…”

Steve shifts closer to her when she opens it, Peggy letting out a soft sigh. She flips through the first few pages and smiles, pointing to one of them. “That’s me…I was about your age in this picture. I had joined the British Armed Forces—much to my mother’s dismay—and became an agent for the Special Air Service. I was of course the only woman in my field…but I ruled those boys like I was their mother.”

He furrows his brow. “Why did you leave?”

“You.” Peggy smiles and turns the page, tapping the photo. A younger Peggy was coddling a baby Steve in front of the house from when she first bought it. “See?”

“Is that after you adopted me?”

Peggy bites her lip. “That’s…what I wanted to talk to you about…” She pulls a small plastic medical bracelet from her pocket and places it in his hand, Steve looking it over. His name was on it. “I didn’t adopt you…I found you.”

“Found me?”

She nods. “I—I didn’t know how to tell you…”

“But if you found me…” Steve frowns, struggling over his thoughts. “Where did I come from? Where did you find me?”

“It’s…a little unclear to me as well…” she turns the page of the album and hums, tracing her hand over some of Steve’s old pictures. “I was in the capitol on business with the military. It was raining and I was on my way back to my hotel when I heard a baby crying. I came around the corner and there was a man—a tiny ugly little man—and he was yelling about something. And holding a baby. I called out to him and he sort of froze. He dropped you as I approached him and ran, I scooped you up and ran after him but he was already gone.” Peggy sighs, laughing lightly. “When I looked you over you had already begun to heal and then—and then you were smiling at me…”

Steve sits back into the couch and lets out a little breath. His brain felt like it was going to explode.

“I went to the police of course and gave them my name, asking if anyone was missing a baby. Stayed in town a few more days but—no one came out to claim you. I couldn’t just leave you so I—I took you in instead. You were just—you just seemed so happy when I held you that I never wanted to let you go, I--” Peggy shakes her head, “--I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

“No one…claimed me?” Steve asks, his voice shaking. “No one wanted me at all? You didn’t find out where I came from or why I’m like this?”

Peggy takes the bracelet from his hand and points to another name just below his own. “This was around your wrist that night. At first I thought it was from a hospital but when I read the name I wasn’t so sure…” She pulls a picture from the back of the album and hands it to him. “Dr. Abraham Erskine. I couldn’t find anything on him while I was in D.C. but—when I asked my superiors if they had any information on him all they could tell me was that he was a German scientist who worked for years in the medical field and then one day just disappeared. He wasn’t the man I saw you with that night but…if you can find him I think he can give you the answers you’re looking for.”

“YES!” Steve grins, leaping up from his seat. He could feel a fire igniting inside him. “Peggy, this is it! This is the sign I’ve been looking for! Maybe this man, this Dr. Erskine can tell me where I came from and why I’m like this. He could still be alive! I don’t know—I don’t know how I’ll find him but I’ll do everything I can, I’ll look everywhere, travel all around the world if I have to I--”

He stops when Peggy sniffles. Steve turns to her and frowns, Peggy dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry I never told you…” He kneels down in front of her, taking her hand. “I was just so afraid someone was looking to hurt you. I wanted to protect you.”

“Aww, Peggy,” Steve smiles, kissing her hand. “You know you’ll always be my girl.” She lets out a small laugh, sniffling. “But I have to find out the truth for myself.”

She nods, sobbing and throwing her arms around him. Steve holds her close, letting her cry into his shoulder. Peggy kisses his cheek and runs a hand over his hair. Steve pulls her closer. This could be the last time he saw her. The last time he hugged her. The last time he smelled her hair or the last time he felt her hands run over his. If he did this…he may never see Peggy again. 

“No matter what you choose…” she whispers, “just know that I’ll always be here for you.”

“I know you will, Peggy.”

Outside the sky starts to rumble, the clouds opening up and letting out the rain, Steve sighing and burying his face into her hair. If this was the last time…he’d want to remember the little moments like this.

*

Steve tiptoes down the stairs and looks around, his bag slung over his shoulder. It was nearly dawn. He’d spent all night thinking over what he was going to do and he couldn’t go on living the life he was without at least finding some answers for himself. If anything he had a life he could come back to.

He looks around the house and sighs. The banister on the stairs was still slightly crooked from where he’d tumbled into it. Pictures of himself and Peggy and her old friends were hanging on the walls. Some of his paintings had been nailed up too as well as a few pieces she’d bought for him from local vendors. His winter boots and coat were set by the door with hers—just in case. There was no telling when the weather could turn bad.

The would-be dining room had been fashioned into his own studio a while ago. Steve looks over all of his unfinished paintings and practice drawings, smiling lightly. He was sure Peggy could find a few to sell. He’d have to let her know that was okay. Steve looks out the window at his tree, the tire swinging from it slowly. He’d spent so many years swinging and climbing in that tree. It was always there, even when one of the branches fell onto the roof. Hopefully Peggy could get someone to fix the roof before squirrels got into the attic. He looks out the other window and sighs. A wooden cross had been posted in the field where they’d buried his first dog. Steve didn’t want Peggy to be lonely…maybe she’d get a new one.

Peggy was busying herself in the kitchen already. He watches her for a moment and looks around. It had always been just the two of them. She was going to be all alone in this big house. Steve sighs. He glances at the wooden frame leading into the kitchen and runs his hand over the markings. For twelve years Peggy recorded his height on this frame, ever since he could stand on his own.

She glances over her shoulder at him and hums. “Oh! You’re up.” Peggy dries off the dishes and places them in the cabinet, turning to smile. Steve sets his bag on the floor. “I was thinking I would make you some breakfast and then you could--” she pauses, her eyes resting on his bag, “--get ready…”

“I…wanted to get an early start.”

“Y-yes…of course…” she nods, turning slightly to grip the counter. Peggy places a hand over her mouth and closes her eyes, tears already starting to stream down her face. Steve pulls her into his arms. She sniffles and sighs, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes. He takes a step back. “Oh, look at me…here I was trying to usher you away to school and now I don’t want you to leave…” She chuckles, blowing her nose.

Steve smiles lightly. “You know it’s not forever though.”

Peggy nods. “Yes, yes, I know…” She sniffs and composes herself, running a hand over her hair. Steve picks up his bag and slings it back over his shoulder. “You have money?”

“Yes.”

“Extra clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, and don’t forget your jacket…” Peggy hurries towards the front door, Steve following her and taking one last look around. She hands it to him and Steve pulls it on. “Well…follow me then. I have something to get you started.”

Steve follows her out into the yard, Peggy leading him around the house towards the back. Birds were starting to chirp. The grass smelled fresh from the rain. Just above the tree line the sun was starting to rise. Peggy stops in front of the barn and Steve pulls the door open for her. She steps inside and climbs over pieces of old wood. Steve looks around the old building, bird fluttering up in the shutters. When Peggy bought the house this old barn hadn’t been used in years.

“I used this old thing during my time in the army,” Peggy grunts, pulling a tarp off a rusty looking motorcycle. “She’s old, but—she’ll run.”

He looks over the bike and grins, running his hand across the leather seat. “It’s great.”

Peggy pushes the motorcycle out of the barn, Steve lifting the pieces of wood in her way. She wheels it towards the gravel drive and stops, Steve climbing onto it. He hums and runs his fingers over the handles. It was definitely an older model but she’d work just fine. Steve slings his bag across both shoulders, Peggy giving it two tugs to make sure it would hold. He starts it up and laughs, loving the sound of her engine. Peggy touches his arm.

“One last thing…” She pulls a scrap of paper from her pocket and hands it to him, Steve looking it over. “When you were about four years old one of my colleagues sent me a missing child post from a local paper based in Pennsylvania. It had your name in it.” He blinks and raises a brow. Peggy gives him a smile. “I was—a bit paranoid about the circumstances in the ad and I didn’t want to risk your safety. That’s the address that was given there. It was under the name Abe Erikson. It could be who you’re looking for but…as I said I was only being careful.”

“I know you were, Peggy,” Steve smiles, hugging her one last time. “All you’ve ever done is look out for me…and no matter where I go, you’ll always be my mother, okay?”

Peggy snivels and steps back from the bike. Steve revs it up and looks back at her, Peggy giving him a small wave, the tears streaming down her face. He tests the throttle before kicking up the stand and taking off down the road.

Steve was finally off. The wind in his hair, the dirt kicking up behind him like a trail…it felt like something had woken up inside of him. It was like a missing piece of him had finally been found and a fire for adventure was burning bright inside him. Steve reaches the main road and pushes the throttle, speeding past all of the shops and few people who were already up and about, howling into the wind. He was going out to find who he was, discover where he came from, and what he was meant to do. Steve was going out to travel the world and he never felt more alive.


End file.
